


’tis the damn season

by gingersprite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Drama, Modern Westeros, New Year's Eve, Past Harrold Hardyng/Sansa Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite
Summary: Sansa needs a date to her family's party to get everyone off her back after her failed relationship. Theon's just here for the buffet.(there's also a chance he's been secretly pining after her for years, but there's no way it could be reciprocated... right?)
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41
Collections: Theonsa Yuletide Gift Exchange





	’tis the damn season

**Author's Note:**

> I banged this out in a day and I'm definitely gonna have to go back and make some edits in the morning, but I'm putting this out here now cause fuck 2020, and Happy New Year!
> 
> Title from the Taylor Swift song of the same name.

Two days before the new year, the very last thing Theon expects is for Sansa Stark to come barging into his sister’s pub and declare, “I need you!”, but somehow that’s exactly what happens. 

“Well I go on break in half an hour, if you can wait that long,” he jokes back, like he hasn’t been hopelessly daydreaming about her saying those exact words to him for years. Her cheeks pink as her brain seems to catch up with her mouth, but she soldiers on ahead.

“This is serious, Theon, I really need your help.” Well, never let it be said that Theon Greyjoy didn’t jump at the chance to play the white knight to a damsel in distress.

“Right, sure, this is me being serious. What’s up?”

“My family’s New Year’s Eve party is coming up, and I need a plus one.”

“Shouldn’t you be asking someone else? Like, I dunno, your boyfriend?”

“We broke up,” she says flatly. 

If he were a better person maybe he’d feel bad about that, but he doesn’t: Harry Hardyng might’ve seemed like a prince compared to Sansa’s last boyfriend, but he’s also a smug pretty boy with all the personality of soggy toast. Frankly, Theon can’t help but think she’s better off without him, even though the idea of someone being stupid enough to dump Sansa Stark barely computes. 

“Shit. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” she snaps. “Completely fine, so fine that I’ve already moved on to a new guy, and when they see that then they’ll forget all about what’s-his-name!”

Theon just barely keeps from snorting. _Yeah, sure, ‘fine’._ Whatever, if that’s what she wants then he’ll play along. “And I take it this ‘new guy’ is me?”

“Yep.”

“What makes you think I’m interested in playing along?”

“Besides the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet?” Shit, she knows he’s never been able to resist a good shrimp platter. “I’ll owe you one. Just help me keep my mum’s side of the family off my back, and afterwards we can ‘break-up’ real amicably. It’ll be like it never happened.”

Free food, a front-row seat to some quality Tully family drama, _and_ the chance to play house with Sansa: Theon doesn’t stand a chance. Sure it comes at the low, low cost of his dignity, but when has he ever been super attached to that?

“You’ve got yourself a holidate,” he declares. Some early bird customers have started to trickle in, so he’d better get back to work before Yara catches him dicking around- though with the pointed comments she’s been making about his nonexistent lovelife, she’d probably be on his side. He shoos Sansa off to a quiet corner until he goes on that promised break, and does his best not to pine too obviously.

When they reconvene, Sansa’s pulled out her ever-present planner and made some bullet notes, because _of course_ she’d turn their own chance at Hallmark-movie shenanigans into an excuse to make lists.

“Alright, if we’re gonna do this, we need a set of rules-” Theon groans- “and Rule Number One is, never use the phrase ‘holidate’ again.”

“Fine, on the condition that I get free-reign over petnames.”

“I have final veto-power,” she counters.

“Deal.” She can veto as many names as she likes, he’ll have plenty more waiting in the wings- and nearly all of them holiday-themed. “So, who’ll all be there?”

“Besides Mum and Dad and the sibs: my grandad, Uncle Edmure with his new wife, Aunt Lysa and her son Robin, plus her creepy husband.” 

Theon grimaces at that last one; he remembers hearing about the man before, none of it good. Pervert has been eyeing Sansa up since she was a kid. He makes up his mind then that rule number one on his own unofficial list is to keep Sansa far away from her ‘uncle.’”

“What about the other uncle, the old one?”

“Uncle Brynden? He’ll probably be fashionably late, but he’ll be there.” Theon’s heard enough about the Tully family drama to know how difficult it is to get Hoster and Brynden under the same roof, much less for a holiday party where they’ll have to be at least cordial, and it occurs to him that maybe this isn’t the sort of function you bring a rebound date to. He mentally kicks himself for what he says next, but he can’t be responsible for making things worse for her.

“Are you sure I should even be there, this kinda sounds like it’s just for family-” She cuts him off with a flippant wave of her hand.

“Don’t be ridiculous, everyone else is bringing their boyfriends and girlfriends,” Sansa says airily, not even bothering to look up from her planner. “We don’t have to even seem that serious, just convincing enough that no one asks about Harry. Or worse, try to set me up with someone else.”

Theon can’t really argue with that; at least if things get rough he can escape into some corner with Gendry and Ygritte and-

“Oh _fuck,_ Robb’s gonna kill me!”

“No he won’t,” Sansa says patiently. “Robb might be a little overprotective-”

“Understatement of the _year,_ ” he grumbles.

“- but he trusts you. We just keep it low-key and he won’t make a fuss, then we’ll clue him in afterwards.”

“Why can’t we just tell him from the get-go?”

“Theon, come on: who is the one person none of my brothers can lie to?”

“Your mum?”

“My mum,” she confirms. “And if she calls our bluff, it’s game over. As for the others, Rickon won’t care, Bran’s probably gonna be too high to notice, and Arya’ll be on hand to keep Jon in line.”

“So Arya knows.” It isn’t a question.

“She’s the one who came up with the idea in the first place,” Sansa explains. Theon huffs a laugh; somehow he’s not surprised. The younger Stark sister always did love a good scheme. 

“Sounds like you’ve thought of everything. Gods this is mental, we must be fucking crazy.”

“Theon, I… I know it’s a lot to ask for, and now that I’ve laid it all out for you I’ll understand if you’ve changed your mind.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant. I mean it _is_ crazy, but I’m all in.” Sansa eyes him dubiously, and he throws up his hands. “Seriously! If you need my help then I’m here for ya, no matter how loony.” He hastily adds on, “plus, like you said, free food.”

“Thank you for this, really, I owe you huge. I just… I really don’t want to go into the new year with this mess hanging over me. Afterwards, we can go back to normal.”

And that, right there, is the sound of Theon’s heart breaking, but he’ll take what he can get; he’s used to it, after all. He’s lucky just to have this chance at being this close to her, even if it’s built on a lie.

\---

Apparently in whatever world the Tullys live in, a ‘family’ party requires renting out a ballroom and inviting loads of rich fuckos who aren’t in any way related to you; Theon’s quickly realizing that this is less of a New Year’s party and more an excuse for the politically-inclined Tullys to schmooze. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s doing a favor for Sansa, but it certainly makes him more conscious of how out of place he is. At least he let Sansa pick out his outfit.

“Stop fussing,” she orders, batting his hands away from where they’re fiddling with his collar. She adjusts his bowtie for him and leans back to examine her work, hands smoothing over the lapels of his suit jacket. “You look very handsome.”

“Ah thanks, you too- er, beautiful, you look beautiful,” he manages to stumble out. Frankly she should be impressed he’s even this coherent, what with her dressed like _that:_ Sansa’s always been a sharp dresser, but this slinky ballgown is a whole other level. He’s just glad he could convince her to wear heels instead of flats, because that extra couple inches she has on him is making him suddenly aware of some kinks he didn’t know he had.

“C’mon, let’s get this shitshow over with!” Arya declares, having materialized out of nowhere. She strolls up to where they’re standing at the entrance, bringing her boyfriend Gendry in tow. Thankfully, he looks just as on edge as Theon feels; they share a glance of solidarity, both sons of single mothers and absent fathers, who normally wouldn’t be allowed to set foot in a place like this- well, maybe as the hired help, or party crashers. Certainly not as guests, the plus-ones of old Hoster Tully’s beloved granddaughters. 

Which, now that he thinks about it…

Theon slips an arm around Sansa’s trim waist, his palm blazing warm against the cool skin of her bare back. Sansa shivers at the touch and he goes to pull back, but she catches his hand and keeps it there.

“Sorry, this okay?” he murmurs.

“It’s fine,” she quickly assures, tugging her stole tighter around her shoulders. There’s an odd flush to her cheeks: he figures the cold night air must be getting to her more than she expected.

“Better get you inside,” he says, concerned. Arya gives him an indecipherable look, before she grabs Gendry’s hand and leads them all into the fray. 

The ballroom is already packed with fancy people milling around, several of them with the characteristic red Tully hair. Arya and Gendry quickly peel off- presumably to get absolutely hammered- and Theon finds himself being lead around the room being introduced to people whose names he instantly forgets. He spies Hoster Tully holding court at a table where Cat and Ned are seated, among others; the latter seems almost as uncomfortable with the crowd as Theon is. 

Meanwhile, Sansa seems completely in her element, expertly greeting and complimenting these virtual strangers like they’re actually friends. It’s almost a shame she wants to be an academic rather than a politician, Theon thinks; she’d be ace at it. When she catches him staring longingly at the promised buffet table, she laughs and gives him a little push towards it.

“Sure you can spare me?” he quips; he knows he’s basically just a prop in this charade, while Sansa’s the one actually putting in the effort of making their new romance seem legit, but that’s the deal.

“Go,” she insists, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. Even though he knows it’s just for show, he can’t help but grin.

He’s busy making up two plates of ridiculously fancy hors d'oeuvres- because even though Sansa didn’t ask for anything, he’s sure she must be hungry- when he comes face-to-face with Lysa Arryn- _wait, shit, what’s the new husband’s last name, or is she back to using her maiden name?_ Theon thinks frantically. 

Lysa Whatever clears her throat delicately, putting a stop to his pondering. “I know you, don’t I? The little Greyjoy boy, always running around with my nephew?”

“Yep, that’d be me,” Theon says smoothly, plastering on a smile. He knew he’d have to play nice with Sansa’s snooty relatives, he just wasn’t prepared to be doing so on his own.

“Should’ve known by that voice of yours. So, what brings you to our party?” She doesn’t quite emphasize the ‘our’, but there’s definitely something about the way she says it that makes it clear he doesn’t belong.

“Ah, I’m here with Sansa. As her date. Because I’m her boyfriend.” _Nailed it._

“Really?” Lysa says dubiously, red brows climbing high on her forehead. She looks him up and down, and Theon nervously waits for her to call his bluff, but apparently something about him makes her seem satisfied with the lie. Maybe she’d just glad he’s there to put himself between Sansa and her husband, assuming she’s even aware of his perving on her niece- and shit, Theon quickly glances around the place to make sure the creep hasn’t got Sansa cornered somewhere. Thankfully he spots her by the cheesy photobooth with Bran, who’s not even bothering to hide the joint he’s taking the occasional puff of.

When he brings his attention back to Lysa, she’s shoving a glass of champagne his way. “Well, let’s toast to the happy new couple!”

“Oh, that’s very nice of you, but I don’t drink,” he explains politely; even if he did, he’s kind of got his hands full with the two plates.

“A sober ironborn, how unusual,” Lysa remarks, taking a sip from the flute herself. Theon grits his teeth at the dig, and he saved from making a fool of himself and Sansa when a soft hand touches his elbow.

“That’s alright, I’m not drinking either: we can be sober friends together,” Talisa says; though her demeanor is pleasant enough, there’s something steely behind her eyes that sends Lysa off with her nose in the air. Theon lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Thanks for the rescue, Tal.” He’s never been especially chummy with his best friend’s girlfriend, but he might have to change that now.

“Not a problem, I know what it’s like,” she says with a wry smile. “If another one of these old farts tells me to refill their drinks…” He winces in sympathy, knowing that whatever comments he might get about his accent pales compared to the shit she gets on the reg for being Volantene.

“Yeah well, the things we put up with for love.”

“So it’s true,” Talisa asks, “you and Sansa?”

“Yep,” he answers simply, stuffing a crab puff in his mouth so he doesn’t have to elaborate and risk conflicted with whatever story Sansa’s been spinning about their ‘relationship’.

“Well, I think that’s wonderful,” she declares. “You make a lovely couple, we’ve all been wondering when the two of you would get your act together. How’d Robb take it?”

Theon blanches. “He-”

“Oh there he is! Babe, over here!” Her waving arm catches Robb’s eye and he hurries over, greeting her with a kiss that’s just barely G-rated. Theon’s brain is still working through the implication of what Talisa just said when Robb manages to detach himself from his girlfriend long enough to pull his oldest friend into a hug. 

“You git, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Robb exclaims, slapping him heartily on the back. “Look, maybe I should be giving you the shovel talk or summat, but honestly I’m just too thrilled!”

“… you are?”

Robb laughs at the dumbstruck look on Theon’s face. “’Course I am! You’re my best mate, I know you’ll be a gentleman.” He wonders if Robb isn’t blinded by their friendship, or maybe just slightly drunk, because there’s nothing about Theon’s dating history to support this assumption. “Besides, if you’re together then clearly she’s over Harry, good riddance.” 

Theon shifts awkwardly, highly aware that this is the most he’s heard about Sansa and Harry’s breakup, despite it being the entire reason for this charade. He’s desperate to learn more, but he’s wary of seeking out information she didn’t want to share with him. As much as he’d like to, he knows he doesn’t have any right to demand she confide in him. Not like she would a real boyfriend; he’s just a fake.

\---

In what is either a remarkable display of restraint or extreme stupidity, Theon manages to avoid gossiping about the Harry situation and escapes to the photobooth. Sansa and Bran are still there taking increasingly ridiculous photos, the current one apparently requiring her to plank across the armrests of his chair while wearing a gaudy plastic tiara.

Their silliness is a sharp contrast to the stiff and somber air of the rest of the party; it seems the other guests are too busy networking to actually enjoy themselves. Theon has always envied the luxurious lifestyle of the Westerosi elite, but now all the pageantry just seems kind of pathetic. He’d much rather be celebrating like Sansa and Bran are, having fun no matter how absurd they look.

Sansa lights up when she spots him and quickly drags him into the frame for some pictures. She grabs a giant sparkly pair of glasses off the accessories table and jams them on his face, giggling at how he melodramatically recoils when she nearly pokes his eye out. Bran good-naturedly poses for a photo with the two of them before announcing he’s going to make out with Jojen, and rolling off leaving them alone. 

Theon drapes a feather boa around her neck and is surprised when she tugs on the plastic beads around his own neck to pull him in close. Momentarily dazed by how close their faces are- gods her eyes are just so _blue,_ and how did he never notice those little freckles on her nose?- he catches himself thinking about how nice it would be to kiss her.

“Should probably get one like a proper-couple, right? To sell this, I mean,” he quickly covers. He almost thinks she looks disappointed at that, but the moment- if there ever was one- soon passes. The auto-timer on the camera counts down, and he presses a kiss to her cheek just before the picture takes. She pulls back after the click and clears her throat nervously, turning away to neaten up the prop table for the next guests. While her back is turned, he catches Hoster watching them from across the room, the frown lines around his mouth like deep crags. 

Theon gives her shoulder a tap and surreptitiously warns, “I think your grandda’s spotted us.”

“Oh yes, I suppose it was only a matter of time.” She sighs, “I’d better go talk to him before he’s had long to stew.”

“D’ya want me to go with-”

“Gods no, I like you too much to subject you to that!” _Like a friend,_ he reminds his traitorious brain, _she likes you like a friend._ “Mum and Dad seemed to take it in stride, but Granddad’s the wild card. You just- just hang out, and I’ll take care of this quick.”

He ends up camping out at an empty table, fingers mindlessly plucking at the ribbon centerpiece.

“Gone to face the old man, has she?” Arya says drolly, once again appearing without a sound.

“Holy fuck!” Theon hisses, “would you stop doing that?”

“Sorry,” she shrugs, looking anything but. Theon suspects she gets a kick out of giving people heart attacks. At least this time she comes bearing punch. “So, how’re you enjoying your first Tully family gathering?”

“Suppose I can’t complain, though your aunt had some choice comments.” He doesn’t elaborate, instead taking a sip of his punch.

Arya grimaces and raises her glass in sympathy. “Sorry ‘bout her, she’s kinda the worst. Actually, most of the people here would qualify for that title.”

He waves it off. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. So, I understand this whole scheme was your idea.”

“Meh, I just gave her the nudge she needed. Sansa came up with the rest herself.”

“I still can’t believe that douchebag would dump her, and right after Yule too.”

Arya chokes on her drink, coughing hard enough that he moves to smack her between the shoulder blades- then he realizes she’s laughing. “Is _that_ what she told you? That _Harry_ broke up with _her?”_

Theon is busy trying to remember the exact wording Sansa had used- did she say he broke up with her or just ‘we’ broke up?- when he realizes there’s an argument brewing a few tables over. Sansa appears to be exchanging some heated words with her grandfather and aunt, while her uncles sit by either unable or unwilling to interrupt.

Theon gets to his feet, telling Arya, “hang on, I’m gonna check on them.”

“Wait, not sure you wanna do that-” she protests, but he’s already on the move. As he gets closer, he begins to make out what they’re arguing over.

“… for some ironborn chav!”

“Please don’t talk about him like that, Auntie, Theon had nothing to do with it. And I can make my own choices!”

“But, my dear, you didn’t even give poor Harry a chance-”

“- it’s not _about_ that, Grandda, and I gave him plenty of chances!”

“- a nice boy, from a good family-”

“Think about what he could’ve given you!”

“That’s not- you just care that you won’t get to use his family’s money for Petyr’s next political campaign, Aunt Lysa!”

“Oh and like that money wouldn’t have been good for you too-”

“- I didn’t _want_ it, or that life-”

“Sweetling, sometimes we have to do things for the good of the family-”

“That’s right, it’s not always about you, you stupid, selfish child!”

 _“Oi!”_ Theon interrupts furiously. He doesn’t care anymore that he’s an outsider in this world, or that he’s just a fake boyfriend, he can’t let her fight this on her own. “You have no say in what she does, she’s an amazing woman, she’s smart, and kind, and bloody gorgeous, and she can make her own decisions, and you tossers can stuff it! Um, respectfully.”

That last bit he can’t help but tack on, because his mama raised him properly, but he thinks the point still stands. His outburst seems to have collected a great deal of attention, the entire ballroom gone silent. Hoster and Lysa are staring at him dumbstruck, the latter beginning to turn an alarming shade of purple with rage, while Edmure looks two seconds away from bursting into laughter. And Sansa…

“Theon, let’s go.” She grabs him by the hand, turns on her heel, and marches away. They pick up the pace, shouldering their way through the gathered crowd. Sansa leads him out to the veranda- because apparently this ballroom is even ritzier than he’d thought- and they slam the bay doors shut behind them. They hide behind a pair of topiaries, waiting until they’re certain no one’s following them, then scurry farther from the windows and sit down on a bench where they’ll be out of view; apparently everyone else has decided their drama is no longer interesting enough.

“I-I can’t believe you just did that!” Sansa laughs breathlessly.

Theon winces. “Did I just make everything worse?”

“Did you _see_ how things were going? I doubt _anything_ could’ve made that worse,” she says dubiously. 

“Fair point,” he admits. “And, um, I know it’s none of my business, but I meant what I said back there.”

“All of it? You said a lot of stuff.”

“Ah, did I? Sorry, it all just sorta… came out.”

“But, did you mean it?” she asks hesitantly.

“Did I- hells, Sansa, _of course_ I meant it!” Theon exclaims. “You are… you’re amazing, and I’ve no idea why a douche like Harry didn’t hold on to ya when he had the chance.”

“He didn’t- oh, I guess I didn’t explain it fully. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to mislead you, I was just…” Sansa lets out a sigh and looks away, like she can’t bear to meet his eyes. “I was embarrassed. I found out Harry was going to propose. We weren’t dating nearly long enough for it, hadn’t even _talked_ about marriage, and he was planning this whole elaborate proposal, something that just wasn’t me- anyways, it turns out he was just doing it because he thought once we were married I’d quit school and be some political trophy wife. Though from the sounds of it, my aunt and her husband might’ve had some influence in the whole thing; I should’ve known, they’re the ones who set us up in the first place after all. But Granddad clearly had no problem going along with it all.”

“Wow, that is really shitty of them. I can’t believe you’d even talk to them after all that.”

Sansa shrugs. “They’re family; they’re important to my mum, and most of my dad’s side is gone. I thought if I could just keep the peace… gods, it all seems so stupid now. I put us both through this mess, and I wasted your time-”

“Hey, it wasn’t stupid,” Theon argues. He can still hear Lysa’s voice calling her stupid, and just the memory of it makes his blood boil. “And you didn’t waste anything. Getting to be your fake boyfriend was worth it.”

Sansa looks up at him finally, and there’s something in her eyes that makes him think she’s seeing him for the first time; and maybe he’s seeing her in a new light too, as more than just the girl he’s been impossibly pining after. 

“I know it wasn’t something we discussed,” she starts, “but if you’re interested, it’s only a couple minutes to midnight, and I’d like you to be my first kiss of the new year.”

“I’d like to cash in that favor and kiss you now, if it’s alright.”

“Impatient, are we?” she teases, leaning in; he meets her halfway.

“Oh Stark, you’ve _no_ idea how patient I’ve been.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at gingersprites, hit me up there for more of my bullshit.


End file.
